- Emily Ellet
The Storm
No one scolds the beach when the waves are angry When they froth with rage and foam with fury When they gnash their sharp, shell-strewn teeth When they pound their fists in impotance and grief
Sure, we prefer them sunny and soft Teasing our toes with demure, kissing caresses Or sometimes laced with steely currents to make our pulse race
But there’s a fascination with a storm’s power With the violence possible from a drop of water With the colors that swirl and menace With the black above that stirs the unseen With the terrascaping free of any man’s hand With the detritus left after its last gasp
Why not me, then?
Unless you’re out in the waves with me Tossed violently about in the maelstrom of emotions Staring into the abyss while gasping for air Choking on the saltwater tears Paralyzed in the recognition of your own insignificance Of the crushing pressure that could silently swallow you
You don’t get to tell me to calm down You don’t get to decide what anger looks like You are the fucking sand And I the ocean So lie down and listen
Copyright 2019 Emily Ellet Photo by Brian Ward Please ask for permission to reprint